


Cognitive Dissonance

by LisaLu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaLu/pseuds/LisaLu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean accidentally thinks about kissing Cas. When the thought won’t leave Dean alone he has no choice but to reassess his relationship with the ex-angel of the lord sitting next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognitive Dissonance

There’s this thing about being human, this thing about being burdened with the wonderful glory of free will. It’s that feeling you get when you’re standing on a high building and think for a split second that if you wanted to, you could jump down. It’s that feeling when you are standing on a cliff next to a loved one and know that if you wanted to, you could push them. You might not want to do it, but you think about it anyway, so does that mean you want to do it after all? It’s also that feeling when you’re sitting on the couch next to your best friend and knowing that if you wanted to, you could kiss him right there and then.

Dean froze. He didn’t just think that. He wanted to un-think the thought right away. Despite his best efforts the words “kissing” and “best friend” kept bouncing around in his head like 3d-text in a screensaver. It was already too late. Dean's eyes were still fixed on the TV, like they had been for the past hour and a half, but his brain was no longer registering the incoming images. Not since they were violently blocked out by a flashing neon sign spelling “What the hell Winchester?” in big letters.

Dean stole a stealthy glance at the ex-angel sitting next to him, looking all too human in his slightly too big t-shirt and frayed jeans. Kissing Cas. He wasn’t sure where that ridiculous idea had come from.

Okay, that’s not quite true.

Dean didn’t have to feign innocence in the confines of his own mind. If he was entirely honest the thought of kissing Cas wasn’t completely foreign to him. But it's not like he thought about it in a weird way! It’s completely natural to think about these things, perfectly normal behavior for a healthy guy like himself! It was never about sex or love or attraction, just… curiosity. That’s it, plain and simple curiosity. Dean was just a naturally curious person, he couldn’t help himself! The few times it had happened there always had been something that prompted the sudden urge to smooch the angel. Close proximity would usually do the trick. Or that piercing stare of his. Dean tried joking about it once back in Bobby’s panic room in an attempt to lighten the mood and put those thoughts to rest by pushing them from the plausible into the laughable. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped and Dean had to resort to good old fashioned repression instead. After that, whenever Dean had wanted to kiss Cas (he swears it didn’t happen _that_ often) he would just crumple the desire into a neat little ball and throw it in the trash.

It seemed to do the trick fairly well (as well as it could), up until this evening. It would be funny how effectively his walls crumbled under the weight of a single thought, if it weren’t so damn stressful. The thought had wheeled right past his mind’s defences, blind to the intrusion until it was too late like an honest to god Trojan horse. Years of oppression had come back to bite him in the ass, as the image of a simple press of mouths was slowly evolving into flashes of fingers threading through hair and hands roaming freely over exposed bodies. Dean groaned inwardly. The trash can had tipped and all the crumpled paper lay scattered across the floor.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose as if the physical sensation would somehow ground him and keep him from having to face this thing he and Cas have going on. Wait- a “thing”?

_Alright Dean Winchester, that’s enough._

There would be a perfectly sound reason for this overwhelming urge that has _nothing_ to do with his little Cas “thing” and that would be the end of it. Case closed. Dean could pick up the pieces, throw them in the trash, salt and burn them for good measure, and go back to the way things were. He was not going to risk anything, because the possible losses and gains both scared the hell out of Dean.

Besides, he could name a number of reasons for this _situation_ that fall within the “perfectly acceptable by Dean Winchester standards” category. There had to be some kind of logical explanation that wouldn’t end in a confrontation with the four-lettered elephant in the room. There also had to be a reasonable explanation for why the urge wouldn’t simply disappear through sheer willpower and only intensified with every second that passed. So Dean did what any reasonable man would do and he went down a list of possible options.

Dean _had_ been checking out some vintage issues of Big Busty Asian Beauties that evening. Maybe he was simply projecting his desire to make out with some of those ladies unto Cas. Sexual frustration. Perfectly sound reasoning. It wasn’t much of a stretch either, he hadn’t gotten laid since before purgatory after all. He glanced over at Cas, who was sitting at the opposite end of the couch, completely transfixed on the happenings on screen and oblivious to Dean’s internal crisis. Seeing that Cas was, in fact, not one of the busty lady stars of quality gentlemen’s literature should have gotten rid of the desire to smooch him into oblivion.

It actually worked for a moment, until it didn’t.

Dean’s eyes wandered across Cas’ face (pale pink lips, strong jaw line, 5 o’clock shadow), down to his throat (Adam’s apple, small scars), and finally came to rest upon his collarbones (sharp, shapely). Okay, see nothing different here. Nothing Dean hadn’t seen before. Manly as ever. Cas looked the same as always, which was obviously nothing like the bodacious women in those photographs. Then why did it do nothing to stop the rising heat inside of him?

His gaze traveled back up to the tiny scars under his chin. The remnants of a failed shaving lesson. Cas had been sitting on the ledge of the bathtub as Dean hovered over him and skilfully demonstrated how the slide of the blade should feel on Cas’ skin. Dean shaved a small portion of the beard, close enough to feel Cas’ breath on his face. He handed over the blade so Cas could give it a try in front of the mirror. He went as slow as physically possible, but still nicked himself a couple of times and was grumpy throughout. They introduced him to electric razors the next day.

Dean had to stop himself from thinking about how close they were in that moment, stops himself from thinking about this at all, but doesn’t stop staring. Cas must have felt Dean’s gaze trained on him, because he turned his head to look at Dean with his eyebrows knitted together in that typical half-frown of his. It was the perfect blend of curiosity and confusion.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice sounded as gravelly as usual. It should have made him aware of reality (this was Cas), should have snapped his thoughts neatly back into place (this was Cas), should have reminded him exactly why this was a risky path to tread. But hearing his name spoken in a voice that was so unmistakably _Cas_ did absolutely nothing to pull Dean from his reverie. He could feel his resolve to repress everything slowly slipping away. Dean finally met Cas’ eyes. The eye contact and familiar expression on Cas' face should've stopped his dangerous train of thought. It should've transported him back to those moments of hurt and pain they'd caused each other over broken alliances and broken hopes by caring too much in all the wrong ways. A firm reminder of why this should be a big no-no. Whether “this” was still only about a hypothetical kiss or something more was something Dean didn't want to think about. 

His gaze darted briefly to Cas’ lips, then back to his eyes. Cas squinted his eyes a little, as if he was somehow trying to figure out what was going on just by staring more intently. Dean swallowed, but it did nothing to erase the uneasy feeling. Blue eyes served as a reminder of times that were, but also as a suggestion of times that could be. Even now that he was fully human it did nothing to change the focused intensity of Cas’ stare. They were the same eyes Dean saw so curiously look at him in that barn, the eyes he saw when Cas defied heaven’s orders for them, and the eyes of an angel with too much heart and all the right intentions. The eyes that once belonged to Jimmy Novak, but were now fully and wholly Cas’. The same eyes that come back to Dean no matter how much he screws up and the same eyes that Dean comes back to no matter the pain they caused. They have hurt each other in profound ways, but who says they couldn’t heal each other just as profoundly. Dean could feel himself tumbling down a treacherous path with those thoughts. Castiel may have been lost when he first laid his hands on Dean in hell, but Dean had felt just as lost himself. Dean knew just how much he needed Cas. 

A slow burning heat rose inside Dean’s chest. He tried to ignore the impending conclusion hovering above him like a heavy rain-cloud ready to burst, but the storm was already brewing and Dean was caught out in the pouring rain with no umbrella. 

Of course this wasn’t just about a hypothetical kiss. Things were never that simple between them. There was very little hypothetical about what was unfolding within Dean. Cas was still waiting for a reaction, his frown deepened slightly, while Dean was still desperately gathering the scrambled bits and pieces of his brain. He simultaneously felt light-headed and as if gravity had increased tenfold. There was a reason Dean Winchester didn’t do very well at _love_. He clenched his fists and felt his heart rate pick up, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. There was no battle to fight except for the one inside his own head, so Dean did the next best thing and rose to his feet quickly enough to make his head spin. He gestured in the kitchen’s general direction and turned towards Cas. 

“I’m, uh- I’m grabbing a beer from the fridge, you want anything?” 

Cas clearly wasn’t buying it. The lack of angel mojo didn’t mean his observational skills had vanished completely. But Dean was thankful that Cas, for whatever reason, didn’t want push it. 

“I’ll have a beer too. Thank you Dean.” 

Dean walked as quickly as he could without being perceived as running. When he reached the kitchen he started making popcorn, the old fashioned way. Anything to give himself a few minutes to clear his head. The rhythmic popping sound of the kernels soon filled the otherwise silent kitchen. It was almost hypnotic and Dean couldn’t help drifting back to the question: why now? 

He had been here before. When everyone around them started insinuating things about their relationship (“the one in the trenchcoat who is in love with you”? come on) Dean had to consider the possibility of something beyond the familial love they shared. Back then Dean had noticed an indescribable pull towards Cas, but no signs of attraction (and he’s a specialist in the area of sexual attraction, thank you very much), so he concluded that there really was nothing there but the strange sort of friendship they had fallen into. There’s no romance that doesn’t start with physical attraction after all. That’s what he’s known, that’s what he’s learned. 

And yet, here he was. If he wasn’t attracted to Cas back then, why the hell would he be attracted to him now? It’s not as if the dude had undergone some kind of earth shattering make-over. He didn’t look any different, except for his slightly extended wardrobe (though he was still fond of the trenchcoat) and perhaps he had a bit more scruff on some days. Nothing fundamental had changed. It was highly frustrating. 

He took the popcorn off the stove and grabbed two beers out of the fridge. He yanked the drawer open with a bit more force than necessary and rummaged around for a bottle opener. He was getting pissed that he just couldn’t figure it out. The drawer was messy too, the Men of Letters really didn’t keep an organized kitchen. He almost cut his hand on a sharp _something_ , but eventually he procured a bottle opener and shut the drawer with a push of his butt. 

Two beers in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other Dean made his way back to the couch where Cas was once more absorbed in the scene unfolding on TV. He let out a small sigh of relief at the sight. 

Cas looked up when he heard the oomph of the old leather couch and felt it dip slightly as Dean sat down next to him and handed him his beer. Cas thanked him with a lazy smile and Dean couldn’t help but smile back a little. Despite everything these moments came to them as second nature. For a moment it felt as if his internal crisis had just dissolved. Or perhaps resolved. Dean took a swig from his bottle and absentmindedly noted Legolas shooting arrows at a legion of Orcs on screen. He leaned back into the soft cushion of the well-worn couch and he let his thoughts wander. 

So… Kissing Cas. Lip locking with Castiel. Smooching the angel. What’s that all about, huh? Sure, Dean likes kissing. Dean also likes Cas, that much is clear. But kissing Cas? Hah. Who would want to kiss that nerdy dude with wings? Even if he is a nerdy dude without wings now. Or should that be _especially_ now that he is a nerdy dude without wings. Dean wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. Despite coining the description himself Dean found it to be a massive misnomer anyway. It must have been the floppy trenchcoat and ill-fitting suit that gave the impression that if you stripped away the angel mojo you’d be left with just that, a scrawny nerdy dude. But now, a dozen of hunts later with Cas kicking monster ass left and right and fit runner physique clearly showing through Cas’ new hunter appropriate wardrobe, it was clear as day just how strong Cas could be even without being all angeled up. He can take on monsters like the best of them, throws down punches just as well as Sam and Dean. Dean felt a little proud that Cas had become such a good hunter in less than a month, under their guidance (his millennia long experience as a soldier for heaven may have helped a teensy bit as well). Together Sam, Dean, and Cas made an excellent team. 

The movie credits roll and Dean has completely missed the ending. 

Dean should have felt relieved. He was no longer thinking about kissing Cas. That jittery feeling had slowly ebbed away, he no longer felt as if he would jump out of his own skin any moment. That restlessness was replaced by a warm glow radiating from somewhere in his chest spreading slowly throughout his entire body, heating him from the inside out in places the sun could never reach. It wasn’t a new feeling. He had felt it before, when Cas had kept their promise, when Cas had saved them once again, when he found Cas after praying to him every night, when Cas returned to him yet again. 

He had always suspected that it was some of Cas’ grace reacting to the connection forged when Dean was rescued from hell, or some of his mojo just peeking around the edges of his vessel and seeping into whoever was there to witness it. But Dean was feeling it now, stirred up by this ex-angel sitting next to him. No grace left to resonate, no powers left to radiate, only the core essence of Cas inside a body that is now truly his and his only. There is not a speck of angelic power left in him and yet the sensation is no different than before. The warmth he felt when they found each other again and again against all odds had settled deep within his body. Sometimes it would flare up intensely, sometimes it would barely be there, sometimes it would flicker like a candle in the wind, but it would never be extinguished completely. When Cas had turned up on the bunker’s doorstep and finally decided to _stay_ Dean had felt it. It was absolutely frightening. It felt more dangerous to Dean than any desire to kiss Cas could ever be. It felt an awful lot like love. 

Dean had no clue how to go from there, so he muttered a quick goodnight and bee-lined straight for his room. The memory foam would help him forget. The morning would bring clarity. Everything is less dramatic when you’ve slept on it for a night. 

\--- 

The following night found them in the same position as the day before, a bowl of popcorn between them, only this time they were watching some kind of documentary about deep sea creatures. Dean wasn’t sure why, but Cas had picked it out. It’s only fair to let the dude develop his own taste in television, shitty as it may be. 

Earlier that day they’d driven a few miles south for a run-of-the-mill kind of case that took them less than an hour to finish. The rest of the day was spent in the bunker’s library, trying to get a grip on this whole fallen angels making a fuss on earth situation. It was their number one priority, but it involved a lot of waiting and being patient. So they took up small cases here and there. Today it was a vengeful ghost, not nearly vengeful enough to pose a real threat to the three of them. It had left Dean with plenty of time for his thoughts to drift towards yesterday’s mind-blowing realization. He’d come to an even more mind-blowing conclusion: He wasn’t going to run away just yet. He was going to stand still and listen. Maybe even vaguely saunter in its general direction. 

“Hey Cas?” Dean broke the silence. 

Cas tore his gaze away from the TV and looked at Dean inquisitively. He looked slightly dishevelled, hair sticking out at odd ends and t-shirt riding up a little. It definitely wasn’t making things easier for Dean. 

“Have you ever, you know…” Dean paused for a beat, “thought about doing something that is completely different from what you’ve done before?” 

Cas seemed to ponder the question carefully. “I thought about driving 50 miles just to get those burgers from that diner we stopped at a few days ago. I never thought about doing that before.” 

The conversation was quickly steering into the wrong direction. Dean didn’t want to talk about freaking burgers, for god’s sake. Not that he really wanted to talk about that _other_ thing, but some subtle prodding couldn’t hurt. Except it could. It could hurt in places that were already beyond repair, though not quite ready for the junk yard just yet. It could be an internal apocalypse waiting to happen or the sweetest hallelujah on earth. While Dean was never a particularly hopeful guy, he was never a coward either. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s nice Cas, but I was thinking maybe something a bit… bigger.” 

“I don’t understand.” A little impatience shines through in Cas’ voice. 

“I mean, like something _really_ out there? Something you thought you would never be caught dead doing?” 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Dean, if this is about your monthly pedicure, I already promised you I would not tell Sam.” 

“You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.” 

“No.” Cas voice was resolute and had somehow retained all of it smitey quality. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Dean, you have been acting strange all night.” Cas stare felt like it peered right into his soul. “I might no longer be an angel, but I am not blind.” 

“Wait, _all night_? What do you mean, “all night”?” Dean’s frown deepened and he shook his head lightly in disbelieve. Cas couldn’t possibly have figured this one out. No way in hell. 

“You have been very quiet since Sam went to sleep.” 

Dean threw up his hands in a defensive gesture, “We were watching a movie! You know what we do with people who talk during movies? We throw popcorn at them.” He punctuated his point by throwing a piece of popcorn at an unimpressed Cas. 

“I am aware of movie watching etiquette, Dean.” Cas grabbed a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl. “It’s not that complicated.” It remained suspiciously silent for a minute until Dean felt a few pieces of popcorn hit him in the face. 

“What the hell Cas?!” Dean shouted in surprise. 

“You were talking too.” He deadpanned. 

Dean chuckled. He tried to keep a straight face, but a small quirk of his lips gave him away. “Alright, that’s enough.” Dean took the bowl from the couch and placed it out of Cas’ reach. “No more popcorn for you until you learn it is _not_ okay to throw popcorn at the cook who puts his love into each little kernel.” 

“Why would you put your love into popcorn if we’re just going to eat it?” Cas sounded a little confused, but there was something else there too. Dean would’ve said it was hopefulness, though that may have just been wishful thinking on Dean’s part. 

“Just a figure of speech, man.” 

“Oh.” 

They sat in awkward silence for a minute until Dean spoke up. 

“It's a figure of speech, but maybe it’s not _just_ a figure of speech.” The words were out before Dean could stop himself. Now it was go big or go home. “Know what I mean?” He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He could feel the pressure building inside of him, everything he’d been keeping bottled up shaking violently and ready to make its way out. Maybe they _would_ stand a chance, maybe it _was_ a risk worth taking. Maybe he had to run towards whatever it was that was waiting for them before it got too far away for him to ever catch. Dean was standing on a ledge and had to decide whether to jump or step back. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Cas said, his expression hard to read. 

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” It would have been so easy to just leave it at that and go back to good old fashioned repression. But Dean just couldn’t do it. He was tired of running in the wrong direction. There were already enough monsters to run away from in real life, he didn’t need to have to run from himself too. His veins were alight with nervous energy, setting him to fire from the inside out. He had to take one step closer to the edge. “Okay, scratch that. Cas, just listen alright?” 

Cas nodded and waited for Dean to continue. 

“When I told you that we’re family, I meant it. Next to Sam, you’re the closest family I’ve got.” Dean rubbed his neck in a nervous gesture. For all he had been thinking about this, he hadn’t actually thought about how to verbalize anything. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, burning holes into the side of his head as Dean stared ahead of him at nothing in particular. He wasn’t going to look Cas in the eyes and make this even harder than it already was. Why was this so hard? 

“This makes getting into freaking Mordor seem like a walk in the park…” Dean muttered. 

“I… actually understand that reference.” 

Maybe this conversation just wasn’t meant to be easy, seeing how easy it was to derail. Dean sighed and tried again. “That’s great and all, but I’m try-“ 

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” Cas interrupted Dean. 

Dean was bewildered. He stared at Cas with wide open eyes, shock clearly written all over his face. What the hell did Cas just say? 

“It’s a quote. From the movie we watched yesterday.” Cas stated matter-of-factly, as if that would explain everything. 

Of course it was a quote. Dean could hit himself in the head for missing that reference and overreacting like a hormonally imbalanced teenager. He could recall the scene between Aragorn and Arwen. One of the less interesting parts of the movie if you asked him, but he remembered it well for obvious reasons. As much as he'd tried not to think about it, it reminded him of another immortal being turned mortal. Maybe he was just seeing patterns where there were none. 

“It reminded me of our situation.” Cas clarified. 

So Cas had thought the same thing. Right. Dean wasn’t sure he expected anything else from the former angel who once saw a religious allegory in Road Runner. 

“So what, you’re Arwen?” Dean grinned wryly, “Only difference being you got your immortality stolen by some dickbag angel.” 

“Right.” Cas looked down at his lap and seemed to contemplate this. Dean turned back to the television. The narrator droned on about the wonders of angler fish's reproductive systems. Dean didn’t particularly care about them in the first place, but at this point in time the mating rituals of deep see fish were the last thing on his mind. He mulled over the last statement for a while until his brain's gears clicked into place and he came to a horrifyingly amusing conclusion. 

“Wait a minute.” Dean turned to face Cas, who looked up to meet his eyes. There was a playful spark in Dean’s eyes, but he tried his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Does that make Metatron some kind of messed up version of Aragorn?” 

Cas sighed in frustration, not picking up on Dean’s joking tone. “Of course not, Dean. You’re Aragorn.” 

So what, they’re Aragorn and Arwen now? Dean laughed, but it was more nervous energy bubbling over than amusement. He wanted to ignore the obvious implications, romantic implications, of that statement, but it was impossible to escape. Did Cas even know what he was implying? The sincere determination in those blue eyes should have washed away Dean’s doubts, but all it did was charge the air with an intangible energy that made his hairs stand up. Positive and negative electrical charge carefully dancing around each other, waiting to crash and create a long overdue thunderstorm. Dean was standing on this ledge and could hear the clouds rumbling in the distance. 

“I know I didn’t choose this mortal life.” Cas said, never breaking eye-contact with Dean. “But I wanted to. I would have stayed here on earth with you and Sam, when the time was right.” A small self-conscious smile grew on his face, though his expression was still tinged with regret. “It would’ve been nice to have the choice. Of everything that I have done for you, I wanted to do this for you the most.” 

“Cas, don’t…” Dean protested, though he wasn’t really sure what he was protesting. They were standing on this ledge together, side by side, and he could feel it slowly crumbling underneath their feet. It was now or never, jump or flee. His first instinct had always been to flee far and hard. It’s what he does when a monster comes too close, it’s what he does when anyone he cares about comes too close. 

But he could jump. They could jump together. The thrill of the fall, not knowing what they would find when they hit the ground. They could land on a bed or roses, torn wholly apart by sharp thorns. They could land in a pit of snakes or they could land on a bed of nails. They would fall knowing their descent together would be worth whatever meets them at the end. 

“Dean.” Cas said insistently, gruff voice tinged with an uncharacteristic softness. He gradually shifted closer until there were mere inches of space keeping their thighs from touching. The air was electric. “Even if we do get my grace back, I would give it away if it meant I wouldn’t have to leave again.” 

If in emotionally constipated Winchester language “I need you” meant what it does, then what Cas had just said was his own way of telling Dean that he needs him too. 

Dean laughed softly. What else could he do? Here they were, two overgrown men with the emotional expressiveness of a rock trying to tell each other just how much they matter in the most roundabout way possible. Dean knew they were being ridiculous about this, but he had known that for a long time. When was anything about them ever normal? 

Cas lifted his hand slightly from his own lap and let it hover in the air between them awkwardly for a moment before placing it tentatively on Dean’s knee. Cas was probably going for a reassuring touch, but all it did was make Dean hyper-aware of their bodies not quite touching in all other places. Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas’ mouth for a second and couldn’t help but imagine the feel of those lips on his. 

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Cas...” Dean was stuck between a whisper and laughter, shaking his head lightly, not quite caught up with reality yet. Despite this he could feel the magnetic pull that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He shifted closer, their sides now pressing against each other, body heat seeping right through the fabric of their clothes. Their faces so close now that Dean could feel Cas’ breath ghosting over his skin as he spoke. 

“Although I may be human now, I am definitely not the Messiah.” 

The crinkles around Cas’ eyes and the tiny smile on his face gave away that he had no problem understanding Dean. Cas had become increasingly self-aware and with that seemed to come poking fun at himself. _”Self-deprecating humor, welcome to the family.”_ It was the last thought on Dean’s mind before he closed the gap between them and was overwhelmed by the feeling of Cas eagerly kissing him back. The rasp of stubble against stubble and gentle slide of lips against lips. Cas' hands threading through Dean's hair and Dean's hands cupping Cas' face. 

It didn’t matter who gave them the final push over the ledge as they held onto each other tightly and tumbled towards the ground. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the video "Why Are Things Creepy?" by vsauce.


End file.
